


Letters to John

by Feather_Burner



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Fluff, Happy Ending, Love Letters, M/M, Mystery, Secret Admirer, Slow Burn, ahahha, hopefully, john's pov mostly, kind of an AU, pen pals to lovers, potential relationship, takes place between the 1st and 2nd albums
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-20 06:29:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17617262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feather_Burner/pseuds/Feather_Burner
Summary: John Deacon is being sent love letters, and he's determined to figure out who it is. It might take a long time and some cooperation from his friends, but he is going to get to the bottom of this, or else he isn't John Richard Deacon, born on August 19th, 1951.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N This is my first fanfic for Queen! Feel free to imagine the characters as the real band members or the movie depictions, it doesn't change much.  
> A WARNING: as this is a multi-chapter romance fic, it is going to be incredibly slow-burn!  
> Happy reading!

“Alright, I’ll see you guys…”

“Thursday, dear,” Freddie said.

“Right! Then it is.”

John Deacon waved goodbye to the rest of his bandmates before slinging his instrument, already in its case, across his back, and heading out the door of the studio.

Recording their second album… it felt surreal. Sometimes it made John feel like a rock star. 

“Yeah, right,’ he thought as he got into his car, which sputtered and protested the whole drive home. They weren’t exactly international sensations yet, and it showed. But that was no reason to doubt the raw talent in Queen. They would break through soon enough.

A bit sore from hours of practicing and recording the royal pain in the ass that was March Of The Black Queen, John parked his car and got out with his bass. Before going inside, he figured he’d check the mail.

He hummed the main melody of the song as he opened his mailbox and took out a small stack of letters out. He closed it again and went inside, throwing the envelopes onto the kitchen table. There was no rush to look at them right away.

First things first- John ran to his bedroom and put away his bass guitar. Immediately he stripped himself of his sweaty clothes, changing them out for a fresh blue jumper and some patched-up denim jeans.

‘That’s a bit better,’ he thought, still panting. He hopped back into the kitchen in a second to get himself a glass of ice water. It was easy to get around John’s home so quickly because it was so small- he was only renting, after all. Finally, he sat down at the table with the letters to cool off.

“Ahh,” he sighed once he’d gulped down the contents of the glass. He set it down a little louder than he’d intended.

Time to sort through the mail, he guessed.

“Junk, junk, junk…” he tossed the envelopes into piles as he labeled them. “...oh, bills… bills… shit…” there were a lot of bills, weren’t there? “...’nd what’s this?”

John held in his hand a peculiar envelope. It wasn’t from a company that wanted his money, but it was from a person. John never received any personal letters these days. What’s more, he didn’t recognize the address. At all. The postal code told him the sender was in the area. No name though… it was suspicious to say in the least. The package looked like it’d been through the wringer too.

“Let’s tear right in, then.”  
And so he did. Of course, he was careful not to rip the contents within, and tore very slowly. He wished he had longer nails to help him, but the instrument he played wouldn’t allow for it. Not much of a loss, in the grand scheme of things.

He pulled out the letter and nearly shrieked, instead making a small squeak in the back of his throat.

It wasn’t, handwritten or typed. No, it was much more ominous looking than that. The letters were all cut out of magazines, like in a ransom note that couldn’t be traced back to its sender. But wait a minute- on closer inspection- upon actually reading the words, John lost some of that fear and confusion. This was clearly a letter of admiration.

He read it aloud because he was alone;

 

“Dear John Deacon- well hey, that’s me!” He giggled.  
“I hope this letter has found you in good health. John, I have something to tell you. I think I love you.”

He felt his cheeks heating up. Though he had no clue who the sender of this letter was, it was admittedly nice to receive this kind of confession…

“Heh.” He smiled.

Then it occurred to him him that he might be being had. His smile fell right off his lips and he kept reading. Ah- the next section detailed a series of vague clues in bullet form, also in magazine clippings.

you know me  
I live closeby  
I dont have a type writer

The last one made John laugh- was that the whole reason the sender had resorted to cutting and pasting? 

That was the end of the letter, no sign-off. John put it face down on the table (there was nothing on the backside, he checked) and stared at the wall. He laced his hands together thoughtfully. There was a chance it wasn’t real. There was just as good a chance he had a genuine admirer. Whatever the case might be- the “writer” had gone through so much trouble to put this together. 

The least John could do was to write back.


	2. Chapter 2

Sitting down at his desk with paper and a pen, John got to work. 

“Dear…Mrs? Mr? Dear whomever…” he pressed the pen against his tongue as he figured out how to word this. A couple of times during his brainstorm, he faltered, wondering if he should even respond at all. But his curiosity wouldn’t let him back out now. 

It took him about half an hour to complete it, but the final product (which he was very happy with) looked like this:

‘Dear Whomever,

I appreciate your letter! Though, I must say your choice in font was a bit worrisome. I understand your wishes for anonymity. Send your next letter handwritten or typed (if possible), please, if only to save yourself some time.

On to the subject matter of your letter- I am truly thrilled to have a secret admirer. I cannot say I feel the same about you, though, mystery writer. Sorry. I’ll have to get to you know you better.

Please write back soon. 

Yours faithfully,

John Deacon.’

 

It was formal, polite, and to the point. John sat the letter on his bedside table and stressed over it until he fell asleep that night. He would mail it the next morning. And then, he would wait.

…

The rest of the week passed by without a reply from the mystery writer. It never fully escaped John’s mind. This was due to, in part, the fact that he had taped the ransom-note-style love letter to his fridge. Was he trying to freak himself out?

He thought about it while he practiced his bass at home. Thought about it during his day job. Thought about it while making meals. He only really forgot about it when he was sleeping. And he didn’t tell a soul about it, not even the guys in the band.

By the next Thursday, he was growing antsy, sure that somebody was pranking him. But he hauled his equipment back to the studio, ready as ever to work on Queen II.

“Hi, lads, hope I’m not late!” John said as he pushed the door open. Roger and Brian were already there, but not Freddie. He walked past them, setting up his amp and plugging his bass into it.   
“John! Good to see you. We thought we were gonna be the only ones here today,” joked Roger. He was sitting behind his drums, twirling his sticks around as if to show off. John laughed.

“Hey, mate. How was the ride over here?” Brian asked, not looking up from the tuning pegs of his guitar as he twisted them.

John sighed. “Well, the car hasn’t altogether broke down yet, so I guess it was alright… have you heard from Freddie?”

“Nope,” Roger answered without missing a beat. “But now that we’ve got the rhythm section together, we can start jamming!”

Before either of the guitarists could inquire as to what song he had in mind, Roger started banging out the beat to Seven Seas of Rhye. John and Brian fell into place naturally, and they all sang along. Occasionally, Roger would purposely throw them off with the wrong lyrics, and they’d all laugh.

 

Well, John would laugh. Brian was too focused to give more than a snort or a smile.

By now, John had completely forgotten his obsession with the letter.

“Ladies! You’ve started without me! Tsk, tsk.” They all turned to see Freddie strolling in, casually late as always. He pouted when they stopped. “Aw, and you sounded so good, too.”

“What held you up?” Brian asked, moving his hair out of his face.

“Nothing that concerns you all, that’s what.” Typical answer. “Alright, are we ready to finish recording a particularly royal song?” The result was a collective groan. “I know, loveys. There’s a lot to that song, but I know it will be worth it in the end. We’ve only got that last part to record, anyway.”

“And the overdubs.” Brian corrected drily.

“Is there any more screaming you need me to do, Fred?” Roger asked with his arms crossed. John didn’t like the tense energy in the room, so he didn’t say anything to add to it.

 

Freddie shook his head. “I didn’t come to hear your sass, darlings. Now let’s make noise.”

…

By the end of the session, which lasted well into the evening, they had recorded all of the noise that they needed for the song. Satisfied with how they’d stitched it together, Freddie called it quits.

“Same time next week?” He asked.

“Works for me!” John piped up, tired but happy with the work he’d put in.

“Same here. Have a good night, gentlemen,” Brian said as he packed up. He and John made for the door, nodding politely to each other in parting. John glanced back once more to see if Freddie and Roger were coming or not. They were staying behind to chat, talking in hushed voices, and they both looked concerned. Worried, even. 

But it wasn’t John’s place to interrupt, and he knew that. So he just kept walking. He couldn’t help the feeling of defeat as he lay on his pillow later that night. Defeated by what, he wondered? He was sure the feeling would pass.


	3. Chapter 3

The very next day when John checked the mailbox (the task had started to feel futile after so many fruitless efforts), he found one letter- a response from the anonymous writer.

John grinned.

He tore into this envelope on his way back inside, ripping the paper with such desire and haste that it was a surprise he didn’t rip the actual letter. He slammed the door behind him and got reading.

This one was typed. That made John giddy.

 

“Dear John Deacon,

Part of me regrets being so blunt in my last letter. I only had so many magazines to work with, so I had to keep it snappy. But it looks like you’re willing to give me a chance so here I go. 

I’ll give you one hint today- I’m a male. And if I’ve lost your interest right there, I’m sorry. I had to be honest.

With love,  
Your secret penpal.

:)

P.S I would have wrote you back sooner, but I had to find this hunk of junk to write with, as per your request. 

P.P.S I’m also self conscious of my handwriting. 

Have a good one John.”

 

This letter was a lot longer than the previous one. It gave John a lot more to work with. More words to read over and over and scrutinize intensely until they just didn’t mean anything anymore.

First of all, he hadn’t expected the writer to be a man. Though it kind of made sense since the majority of John’s friends were men. 

Second, John knew he wasn’t “self conscious” of his handwriting. He didn’t want John to recognize his handwriting. Nice try, though.

John wrote back instantly, pouring his heart and inquiries out onto the page with reckless abandon. 

‘Dear Mr. Whomever,

Thank you ever so much for going through all that trouble for me and switching to typing. Makes both our lives easier, I think.

Now, you must have a lot of courage to tell me you’re a man, and I commend that. And no- that doesn’t automatically deter me… I may have to come to terms with something inside myself, but I’m still intrigued. How could I judge you so harshly when we’ve just begun talking? :)

What is it about me you like, Mr. Mysterious? (Is it alright if I call you that? I think I might.) I’d love to know.

Forever yours in suspense,

John Deacon.’

… 

Over the next month, the letters flew in and out of their mailboxes consistently every few days. Between band practices, day jobs and whatever else, they carried out a steady conversation, a transcript of which looked like this:

______________________________________________________

“Dear John Deacon,

I am beyond relieved that you didn’t shut me down. Really, thank you. It means the world to me.

What do I like about John Deacon? What an impossible question. There are many, many things. But I suppose it makes sense for me to start in the shallow end before we get too deep. ;)

First off, I like your looks. You’re cute as a button. I like your hair, it looks soft to the touch. Also your eyes, they do that thing when you smile.

Shall I add more? You exude cuteness. You’re a darling. That is all for now.

Oh, and yes, you may absolutely call me that! 

With love,

Your Mr. Mysterious.”

______________________________________________________

‘Dear Mr. Mysterious,

You stroke my ego so.

Please, tell me more :)

Yours, swooning,

John Deacon.’

______________________________________________________

 

“Dear John Deacon,

Short, sweet, and to the point, huh? Alright. I can play.

You’re funny. Clearly you know that! You make me laugh. Do you make yourself laugh, John?

Later,

M. M.”

______________________________________________________

‘Dear “M-M”

Oh please don’t be cross with me! I didn’t mean for my last letter to be so brief. Things are busy when you’re part of a band! Truly, I am touched by the things you said, even now. Your letters truly brighten my day. I hope we can look past my slip-up?

Perhaps if I knew who you were, I could return some of these compliments… 

You make me laugh, Mr. Mysterious. I know that much. :)

Sending you my sincerest apologies and lots of love,

xoxo

John Deacon.’

 

______________________________________________________

“Dear John Deacon,

I understand. I shouldn’t have reacted that way- I’ve been going through some troubles myself, see? 

Oh, Deaky, if only I could reveal myself. Things would be so much easier.

Well I could, but what would be the fun in that? Besides, I’m dreadfully nervous. A coward really.

God you’re so sweet. Don’t ever apologize to me, to anyone, there’s no need.

Here’s to a good week! Cheers!

Love always,

Mr. Mysterious.”

______________________________________________________

‘Dear Mr. Mysterious,

I do hope you’re doing better! Whatever are you going through? If only I could help. :(

I completely understand your wishes, once again, to remain anonymous. Though it’s worth pointing out, you’ve already revealed yourself to be a man! That should be the hardest part, shouldn’t it?

I digress.

...I have to point out an interesting choice of words in your last letter. “Deaky” is the one I mean. Only a few people even call me that!

You must have picked it up from one of the guys in the band! Unless… we are closer than we think? (And I am inclined to believe the latter frankly.)

Be careful, Mr. Mysterious.

Your bassist,

John Deacon.’

______________________________________________________

“I’ve made a huge mistake. How do you take back a letter?”

______________________________________________________

‘Indeed... Ah, but you can’t take back what’s in ink.

See you next practice!’  
______________________________________________________

 

Except, that next band practice never came. Or, not right away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N  
> This chapter was quite a bit different from the rest. The next ones will follow the regular format though.  
> I hope it's not too weird to read without the narration, I just thought it would be better to put all their letters side by side- like a real conversation!  
> Hope you've all been enjoying the read so far!!!


	4. Chapter 4

On the next Sunday, at 9 am sharp, John was woken up by the ringing of the telephone. “Hhhnngnnhh…” He groaned as he stretched and rolled out of bed. The ringing had, for just a moment, worked itself into his dream, wherein he was receiving a call from his Mr. Mysterious. Which, he realized, wasn’t impossible. That woke him up.

He raced to the kitchen to pick up the phone. His voice was still a bit groggy when he spoke. “Hello?” 'Ew,' he thought.

“Deaky! Thought I’d never get through to you.” A familiar voice answered. A smile crept onto John’s face despite his state.

“Oh! Freddie! What did you need?”

“I need you to come over, dear. Now. Rog is here and Bri should be on his way-”

“Aw come on, Fred. It’s the day of rest, isn’t it?” He began to twirl the cord around his free index finger, rocking on his feet. It wasn’t clear where this was going yet, but John was hopeful.

Freddie sighed. “Not for Queen, it isn’t! Listen, it’s important… please just come over? I’ll explain everything when you get here. We just need you right now.”

John’s heart caught in his chest for a moment. They needed him? What could be that important? He guessed he had no choice but to find out. It kind of scared him. “I- alright, fine. I’ll be there in a few, Fred. I’ve just got to get dressed ‘nd all that.”

“Yes, fine. See you soon, Deaky.”

“Right. Bye.” John hung up and sighed, heading to the bathroom to look in the mirror and fix himself up. He looked and felt like absolute shit- his hair was like a bird’s nest, and his eyes still weren’t fully adjusted to the morning light.

He turned the tap on, made sure the water was nice and cool, and splashed water onto his face. “Ooh!” He shivered, alert. Then he went about his usual morning routine, brushing his teeth and styling his hair and changing into something decent. He picked a tight-fitted shirt with a butterfly on it and a set of bell-bottoms, fastened them around his skinny waist with a leather belt, and was good to go. He skipped breakfast in his rush to get out the door.

John got lost in thought again as he drove away. All month, he had spent every day and every night trying to decide who his mystery lover must be. It should have been so simple. It was one out of a possible three, for goodness sake! It was either Freddie, Roger or Brian. But that was always where he got stuck- was it Freddie, was it Roger or was it Brian?

He had reason enough to believe it was any one of them, judging by Mr. Mysterious’s writing style alone. He had the poise and seriousness of Brian, the temper and humour of Roger, yet the nerve and constancy of Freddie. Every time he thought he had the answer, something told him he was wrong.

The thing was, John didn’t necessarily want it to be any one of them. Yes, he had gotten attached to his fellow writer, and yes he was charmed by him, but that didn’t mean he was in love with any of his bandmates. He really just wanted an answer, that’s all, so he could figure things out from there.

The situation was confusing. He turned up the radio, drowning out his thoughts for the rest of the ride.

When he arrived at Freddie’s place, he mentally prepared himself to face his bandmates again. It hadn’t even been too long since the last practice, but it had been long enough for him to stew over the letters to the point of exhaustion. He was going to be on constant alert at all of their behaviours, no doubt.

As he knocked, a voice in the back of his head nagged at him for the umpteenth time-

‘You’re getting punked.’

“Shut up,” he murmured back to it. The door flew open, startling him out of his thoughts. Freddie was a blur of white fabric and panicked expression as he whisked John inside and locked the door behind him. “Woah, well hello!” John exclaimed, feeling dizzy from the sudden movement and steadying himself.

“Don’t be such a drama queen,” Freddie began, pacing over to his living room. John followed, trying to collect his thoughts. Roger and Brian were sitting across from each other on different couches. Freddie Joined Roger, leaving John to take up the seat next to the guitarist.

“‘Ello,” he whispered. Bri smiled at him but said nothing as Freddie continued.

“Now that we’re all here-” he gave John a shady look, for apparently he’d taken too long!- “I have to tell you something… Roger and I have been thinking-”

“That’s never good,” quipped John, unable to stop himself.

“-And we’ve come to the decision that-”

“Wait just a minute,” Brian laughed, “since when do you two have the authority to be making decisions for all of us?” John nodded, looking uncharacteristically defiant.

“WOULD YOU JUST LET ME SPEAK?” Freddie screamed. Roger, who -surprisingly- hadn’t said a word this entire time, jumped. “I-I’m sorry...” Freddie regained his composure quickly, but everyone was on edge now. “Roger and I have decided that- due to some unforeseen financial issues- we’ll all be rooming together for a while.”  
John’s mouth dropped a little at that. “What? Fred, that’s- you can’t be serious! I just settled into my new place like two months ago, what gives?”

“Yeah,” Brian chimed in, “and what financial issues? Last time I checked, we had enough money to be recording a studio album, and possibly enough to tour, if we keep saving. That’s just from the last album cycle! And look at John-” he gripped the bassist firmly by the shoulder- “he’s got the money to be living alone. As have I, and you and Rog. So, yeah, what gives?”

It seemed that Freddie had been anticipating the onslaught of questions. He just closed his eyes and breathed, allowing them time to get out all their frustrations. “I know, it came as a surprise to me, too… Roger, would you like to explain?”

All eyes were on the drummer now. John watched with particular interest as Roger picked at his nails, a nervous habit he’d never seen him exhibit before. “No, I wouldn’t like to explain, not really,” he mumbled.

“Well you haven’t got the choice, Rog.” Freddie said through gritted teeth. He did not look pleased. Roger sighed, defeated. Vulnerable.

“Alright. Thing is, I’ve been having some money troubles lately an-”

“Money troubles my arse!” Brian shouted. This time John jumped, shifting away from him. He cast Roger a sympathetic look for all the shouting but got nothing in return. The drummer wouldn’t meet anyone’s eyes. Brian went on lecturing. “You’re just as rich as we all are. The band money gets split four ways, Roger. And you’ve got a day job just as we all have, isn’t that right?”

It was Roger’s turn to explode. “I QUIT MY DAY JOB, BRIAN! God! I’ve made some bad, er, investments, okay? Gambled a little! Whatever!” He crossed his arms around his shaking body as tears spilled from his eyes. He was fuming, crying more out of anger and embarrassment than out of sadness.

“Guys, I think we should give him a break,”John squeaked. Was he the only one whose heart was breaking? How could they watch him break down like this? “I… Freddie’s solution makes sense.”

Brian turned to John, arms crossed in disbelief. “How so? Why should we all take the fall for one person’s mistakes?”

John swallowed, meeting everyone’s burning gaze for just a second. “Well, I admit it’s a bit sudden, and I wish I’d been told about this sooner- that’s probably why you’re upset, Brian.” He met the guitarist’s quickly softening eyes. Everyone was calming down. “But, we are a family. If we can’t support one member when he needs it, then what kind of family does that make us?”

“Well put, Deaky,” Freddie said, “and it shouldn’t take us long to get our Roggie back on his feet! Remember, boys, this is only temporary.”

They all waited for Brian to say something. He was the last vote they needed to fully approve the idea. “If, and I do mean if, I agree to this, we all have to promise to budget wisely and not do anything irresponsible with the money while we’re together. Got it?” Three affirmative nods, Roger’s the most reluctant, but all of them honest. “Good. And Fred, I hope you have a place in mind, because I don’t have time set aside for flat hunting, of all things.”

“Actually,” Roger interjected, sounding a bit hoarse but getting some of his spunk back, Freddie and I already took care of that.”

“Don’t tell us you already bought the place,” warned John, sharing a weary glance with Brian.

“Heavens no, darlings!” Freddie waved his concern away dismissively. “We had to get your approvals first. But, now that we’ve had our chat, I think it’s time we all got packing!” 

John laughed and the rest couldn’t help but join in. The whole situation was just so ridiculous and spur-of-the-moment. How could they not laugh? John didn’t feel he had made much progress solving his love letter mystery, but that would have to be put on the back burner, for now.

Though, as Freddie pulled them all in for a big, tight hug, John remembered that somebody here loved him. Well, they all did. But for one person, being part of the same musical family just wasn’t enough. As if to confirm his thoughts, somebody squeezed John’s hand. When he opened his eyes to catch who did it, the hug had dispersed. God damn it. He was so caught up in the moment that he didn’t have a clue.

Next thing he knew, he was practically being pushed out the door again, along with Roger and Brian. Freddie told them the location of the new place, and that they were to meet there with all their stuff in a few days time. 

“I’ll take care of the money for now,” he promised. “Now get packing, songbirds! We haven’t got much time!” With that, he shut the door, leaving just the three of them standing out in the driveway.

They didn’t get back in their cars yet. John turned to face both of his friends. “Well, this has been...”

“...Informative,” suggested Brian.

“...Relieving,” Roger sighed, taking out a pack of cigarettes. Brian smacked them out of his hand. They landed in a puddle. “Hey, just what the fuck?!”

“Starting now, you can’t be spending our money on this shit. It’s clearly part of the problem!”

“I- Brian, fighting isn’t going to solve the problem either-” John interjected, but neither of them were listening.

“Yeah? And now I’ve got to go purchase some more. You idiot!” Roger yelled, stomping on the cigarettes for emphasis.

“I’m the idiot? Really!” Brian shot back.

“Guys, enough! Please, just be civil with one another,” John cried, catching their attention this time. “If we’re going to be living under one roof together, then you two can’t be working against each other!”

Roger snorted. “Whose side are you on?”

“Our side, everybody’s side. It’s not about sides, rather. It’s about cooperation and compromise.” For a minute he was worried that he was getting lost on them. But, eventually, they nodded, seeming to understand.

“Good point, John,” Brian said tiredly, waving as he stepped back to his car. “I’ll see you boys at the new place, I guess.” They waved back. Roger stuck around for a minute.

"Hey, thank's for defending me like that, John. Now that we're alone, I've got something to tell you,” Roger said, hushed. John immediately thought back to his secret mission. Was this it? Was this the confession he had been holding out for all month? His heart raced at the possibility.

“Oh, really, Roger? This is a surprise-”

“Yes.” Roger leaned in to whisper, hesitating a moment. “I…” John flinched at the closeness. “...didn’t quit my day job. They fired me!” Roger stood back and started laughing. “But you can’t tell anyone, Deaky! please promise me you won’t?” 

John felt a part of him sink, suddenly feeling like that pack of cigarettes on the ground at his feet, soaked in mud and unusable. He pulled an empty smile.

Was this some kind of cruel joke?

“Yeah, no I’d never tell. I promise. Have a good rest of your day, Rog, and take care.” He headed back to his car. It occurred to him that his car was blocking the drummer’s, so he backed out quick.

He drove away fast, no longer able to fight the tears of disappointment stinging in his eyes. For as far as he could drive, it never felt like he was getting anywhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N  
> It's been a while! Sorry for the wait! This one's a bit longer, though, so maybe that makes up for it.  
> Thank you for ALL of your lovely comments!! Reading them has absolutely fueled me during this writing process :)  
> More coming soon. John's obsession only worsens from here.


End file.
